Dirty Secrets
by pmting-elf
Summary: One shot. Aragorn has a dirty secret. But, really, who doesn't?


__

This is just madness. I blame it all on Mary.

Aragorn has a dirty secret. It rests at the bottom of a heavy wooden chest in his closet. Both the chest and the closet are securely locked, and only he and one other soul know the whereabouts of the keys. That soul is none other than Legolas, whose bow is decorated with pink ribbons and sparkly blue fairies (which was supposed to be his dirty little secret, but when you strut around in blue silk nightgowns and plait your hair in pigtails, people are going to suspect anything). Unlike Aragorn, Legolas has a support group to help him out with his insecurities--his love of pink and lace--consisting of one person: Arwen. Beautiful, fair, patient Arwen who has no knowledge of Aragorn's secret.

However, on the day of the mid-summer festival, she is about to find out.

***

Legolas eyed his friend sternly. "Estel, this has to stop."

Aragorn gazed up at him innocently. "Whatever are you talking about, dear Elf?"

The Elf raised a careful eyebrow. "Don't play games with me. You know exactly what I'm talking about."

The king of Gondor stared down at the troublesome article of clothing ashamedly. His very own dirty secret, his own precious, was a kilt that was decorated with blue and gold stars. He'd taken a liking to wearing it around the kingdom in disguise. After shaving his legs and arms properly, putting on a prettily curled blonde wig, the kilt, and a lavender dress shirt he'd stolen from Legolas years ago, Aragorn would disappear for hours on end. The Elf, thank the Valor, still hadn't found out about the shirt.

"I can't tell her!" Aragorn said in a tone that, clearly, coming from another man would've been considered 'whinging'. "What if the same thing happens with her as with _Shelob_?"

Legolas rolled his eyes (in a very Elven and graceful manner, mind you), "First of all, Frodo was just asking for it. Secondly, Arwen doesn't have eighteen-inch venomous fangs... That I know of," he added quickly.

Aragorn shuddered at his friend's discreet reference to a little-known episode of the Ring-bearer's journey, and decided that he really didn't want to think about his wife in connection to venomous fangs.

He paused. "But, she's very supportive of you and all, right? She's always saying there's nothing wrong with pink ribbons..."

"And there isn't!" Legolas declared, louder than necessary.

Aragorn blinked.

"Ahem, anyway," the Elf continued, looking flustered. "I'm sure she'll understand."

The man sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "She's going to find out sooner or later, right?"

"She's not stupid. I'm sure she will."

"Yes, that's what I'm afraid of."

Legolas was becoming irritable. "All the more reason to tell her yourself before she finds out by accident, then, hmm?" he reasoned, doing his best not to lose patience.

Aragorn fingered the hem of his kilt, staring down at it thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I'm right," Legolas said airily, glad that he was finally beginning to get through to the stubborn king.

"In fact," Aragorn said, something like pride evident in his voice, "I think I'll tell the whole kingdom!"

Legolas' eyes widened in horror. "Aragorn, I don't--"

"No, think about it! Me, the king, confessing such a secret to my whole kingdom!" he cried, puffing his chest out. "Don't you see what this could do?"

"No, no Aragorn, I think you misunderstood--"

"I understand what you said completely, Legolas," Aragorn went on, starting to pace back and forth across the floor of his chamber, jabbing his finger into the air at random intervals dramatically. "This could make my people more open-minded, more willing to accept one another's quirks and differences..."

Legolas had gone ghostly pale by now. "Aragorn, really, I think you should reconsid--"

"NAY!" he shouted, slamming his fist down onto the bedside table. "The day has come for me to hold my kilt up high!"

The Elf bit down viciously on his bottom lip, a mental imagine of Aragorn standing before Gondor, unknowingly waving his kilt around while in the nude. Well, if nothing else, that would please the ladies and enrage Arwen past her limits so that she might actually grow fangs._ The poor Lady Elf_, Legolas thought wearily, _first it was lack of bathing, and now this_...

***

Legolas shifted nervously beside Faramir, staring straight ahead. Minas Tirith was lined with stands filled with homemade goods, people weaving left and right of each other, a joyous chatter filling the warm, crisp air. The Elf thought it a fantastically beautiful day, and tried not to think of what was to come. Faramir, after living with Eowyn for years, had learned to tune into others' emotions, and could sense distress in the fair Elf.

"Something troubles you, Legolas?" he said, tilting his head to the side in concern.

"What?" the Elf squeaked, and cleared his throat. "What, troubled, me? No, no, no! Of course not! No, I'm not troubled... Never..."

"Uh. Huh," Faramir commented. "You're twitching."

"Twitching?" said a gruff voice, coming to stand with them. "I thought elves never twitched."

Legolas looked down into the sparkling eyes of Gimli. "Those whose nerves have been tried by the nature of dwarves do."

Gimli grunted good-naturedly, taking his spot along the wall next to Legolas. "What's got your breeches in a bunch?"

Legolas sighed. "You'll find out soon enough," he said, and looked down at the top of his good friend's head. "Where are the hobbits?"

Gimli shrugged his stout shoulders. "We'll know soon enough."

"What do you..."

There was a shrill female shriek followed by much giggling, and, predictably, Merry and Pippin popped out of the crowd and came running towards the three standing along the wall. Merry attacked Legolas first, and the Elf laughed, stroking the head of reddish curls before they pulled away.

"Oi, you don't think anybody 'eard tha'?" Merry asked.

Legolas' lips twitched. "Of course not."

"Well, tha's good news," Pippin nodded. "She was no' happy with us, let me tell you."

Gimli laughed heartily. "Where are the other two?"

"Acting like civilized Shire folk, eh!" Sam shouted, thumping both Merry and Pippin on the back of the head. "Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo couldn't help the grin that nearly split his face in half. "I'm here, Sam."

"I thought I'd lost you," the hobbit replied, setting his bags down near Gimli.

Legolas smiled. "It looks like we're all here, just about."

"Just about," Gandalf said, coming to stand beside Faramir. "We wait only for Aragorn."

Legolas went pale once more. "Goodness."

Gandalf looked at him carefully. "What is it?"

"Aragorn... He has something to tell us all when he arrives," Legolas said, cringing.

"Oh my goodness."

Legolas stared at Gandalf. The Istari seemed to know exactly what was going to take place, just by the tone of his voice and the frightened glint in his eyes. When the Elf was about to open his mouth to question the old wizard, Arwen was before them, smiling and looking as lovely as ever. The hobbits all stilled in her presence, and she gave them a smile that brought a bright red blush to Sam's cheeks.

"Has anyone seen Estel?" she asked, eyes resting on Legolas.

He shook his head, not dishonestly. "Not since this morning."

The Elven lady smiled her thanks, folding her hands at her waist and standing, waiting patiently for her husband's arrival. The heavy, wooden doors creaked open slowly, and Aragorn stepped outside.

Legolas covered his eyes as a collective gasp went up around him. Peeking through the cracks of his fingers, he saw Aragorn standing there in his kilt, and...

"Hey, that's my shirt!" he shouted amidst the silence.

Aragorn's cheeks, tinted pink already, darkened as he made his way over to Arwen. "My love..."

Arwen looked speechless, her knuckles turning white as she gripped them together tightly. "Yes, dear?"

"Are you ashamed of me?" Aragorn asked, slowly, prying his wife's hands away from her waist and holding them in his own.

The Elven queen looked him up and down. "How odd..."

"What is?" he asked.

Arwen laughed brightly. "How odd that your legs are so much nicer than mine."

Aragorn exhaled in relief, and the rest of the kingdom followed suit, everyone going back to their own business. Arwen leaned up and kissed his cheek.

"It's quite fine, my love. I've been known to wear breeches."

Aragorn's eyes widened. "Really?"

Arwen nodded. "Mmm hmm."

Faramir, who had since been joined by Eowyn, cleared his throat. "I like to wear tiaras..."

"Headdresses," Legolas corrected quickly.

"Same difference," he mumbled.

Merry and Pippin looked at one another, and Merry said, "Sometimes we walk around completely in the nude."

Frodo cringed. "Don't remind me." When everyone stared at him, he squeaked, "All right, so I enjoy wearing jewelry! Especially rings..."

Sam looked almost appalled, and then he sighed. "Eh, I do have to confess that I take pleasure in walking around in naught but my undergarments."

"Save that for Rosie," Merry cried, scrunching up his nose.

Gimli was eyeing Aragorn appreciatively, and when everyone had taken notice of this, and Aragorn had become uncomfortable, Gimli shrugged.

"I, myself, took a liking to the Elven princeling's shirts. Nice and soft against the skin, they are," he said, never batting an eyelash.

And so started the trend of silk dress shirts and kilts in Middle Earth.


End file.
